The Singing Metal Comb

I slipped behind the armchair and found the floor radiator nestled against the baseboard. Tall rows of painted metal fins stood in a neat row. Like teeth on an upright comb! I grabbed a stray wooden ice cream stick from under the rug corner. Gripped it tight with both hands. Took a wide stance. Then—dragged the stick flat across the metal grates at full sprint. Trrrr-clack-clack-clack-zip! A loud, buzzing chatter rattled through the stick straight into my knuckles. I froze, eyes wide. A high-speed metallic strum! I spun around and raked it backwards on the rebound. Clatter-buzz!